


I Will Follow

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different hemisphere isn't going to stop Chris from going after Karl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Follow

This is how it goes between them: Karl says something harsh, Chris twists it into something ugly, and then Karl walks out the door. Except this time, he swivels as he goes, barking, "And _don't_ come after me," just before the loud slam reaches Chris' ears.

And since Chris apparently can't do anything that isn't a complete contradiction to what Karl says, he marches to his sofa, opens his laptop and books a flight.

He knows Karl lives in Auckland. He can figure out the rest.

*

The flight is longer than he expects—fucking endless, really. And he's surprised to find it so cold, until he remembers that it's a different hemisphere. It's June and he's only got his cardigan and a ratty bomber that he refuses to throw away, even though Karl keeps begging him to buy a new one.

He still remembers when Karl first curled his fingers into the worn, fake leather and used it to drag Chris closer.

The zipper gives him the usual trouble when he tries to pull it up. Chris ends up pulling the folds of fabric taut around himself and keeping his head down against the wind.

*

Karl coughs as he picks up. "Sure you can afford to make this call?"

"I can't afford not to make it," Chris quips. "I'm lost in sheep country."

"Wait, what? You're here in New Zealand?"

"Well, here's the thing." Chris squints, looking around the café in which he's taken up shelter. "When you're not at my place, the only thing I have to talk to is the toaster. And the toaster told me it'd be a good idea to come down, so here I am."

"You're an idiot," Karl mutters.

"I'm a lost American tourist in a strange land. You wouldn't just leave me stranded, would you?"

Karl hesitates before he answers. "I'm not there."

"Don't lie. You said 'here in New Zealand,' as in, you're here, too."

"I'm not in Auckland," he clarifies. "I'm on the South Island. Thought I'd get away from it all for a while. So much for that."

"South Island, huh?" Chris repeats, furrowing his brow. "Does that mean it's colder there?"

Karl sighs in defeat. "Got a pen for directions?" Chris smiles and reaches for a napkin.

"Always."

*

Chris leans his cheek against the freezing cold window pane of the bus and watches the hills roll by, dotted liberally with white cotton balls of grazing sheep. It's beautiful, sure, but when Chris considers that Karl might choose this over him, he can't help but loathe every innocent animal out there, every last blade of swaying grass.

 _You can't have him_ , he thinks. _I want him._

*

Queenstown turns out to be the most gorgeous place he's seen yet: a resort town with azure skies and snowcapped mountains in the distance, a postcard photographer's wet dream. He decides to walk to the restaurant Karl mentioned, getting directions from someone on the street.

The weather seems to change instantly on the way there, the sky going cloudy and gray in seconds flat, and then the freezing rain coming down from the New Zealand sky as if to punish him for treading here. By the time Chris gets to the restaurant, his hands are shaking and damp, his lips gone numb. He's positive it's the coldest he's ever been.

"This fucking jacket," Karl says by way of greeting. He leads Chris to a table and wraps his own heavy coat around his trembling shoulders, orders him a hot chocolate. Chris wraps his hands around the mug when it comes; it feels vaguely warm but he's so iced through with cold that it's probably scalding.

"It's June," he says when he finally gets the feeling back in his lips. Karl rolls his eyes.

"Ever taken a science class, Pine?"

"It doesn't sleet or snow in June," Chris says, feeling particularly stubborn. "Not where I'm from."

"Yeah, well. This is where _I'm_ from. Love me, love my backwards country."

Chris tips the hot chocolate to his lips and gulps. "I'll try, but I don't have to like the sheep."

"I'm sure they'll be devastated."

*

It's still raining when they board the lift that goes up the mountain, but as they get closer to the top, Chris spies the drops turning into fat snowflakes. It was many years, back when he was growing up, before he saw snow for the first time. He's certainly never seen any in June.

"Man," he says. He considers the alternate universe beyond the glass and leans against Karl's side. "What am I even doing here?"

"Being batshit crazy," Karl answers. He turns an annoyed look onto Chris. "You do know you're crazy, right?"

"And you're crazy to think you could just leave and I wouldn't go after you."

"I'm crazy for a lot of reasons," Karl says quietly.

Chris offers him his hand and Karl makes an inconvenienced noise as he takes it.

*

"We're buying you a real coat tomorrow and that's final," Karl says. He climbs into the bed, where Chris is already curled on his side, hogging all the covers. It's the first time he's felt truly warm all day, and Karl's arms around him don't hurt matters.

"You're not throwing away that bomber," he warns. Karl grunts.

"You're impossible, you know that?"

"I have an idea, yes. You said as much the other day."

Karl sighs, tucks his nose against Chris' nape; the tip is cold for about two seconds and then it warms, too. "I didn't mean any of that."

Chris clasps his wrist. "Yes, you did. Everything but the last part."

"Yeah, no." He curls his fists loosely against the center of Chris' chest. "I didn't mean that part at all."

Two days later, he's ready to kill Karl for about thirty seconds, until he spies his missing bomber tucked away between layers of clothes in the suitcase that doesn't belong to him.

Just this once, Chris supposes he can let it go.


End file.
